Sinner
by Persephone's Kiss
Summary: Thomas is a man who keeps his emotions carefully hidden inside of himself. But is he as cold on the inside as he seems on the outside? And what's the reason for his behaviour? / The occurrences at Downton, from Thomas' POV, and more. Contains some slash.
1. Chapter 1

**General information**

**Pairings:** None really, aside from Thomas/Duke of Crowborough, a serving of Thomas/Edward and some minor Thomas/various OCs from the flashbacks. Oh, and there's Daisy's one-sided crush on Thomas. Anyhow, there will be a lot of friendship moments later on, so be warned.

**Warnings:** Thomas-entered (whether or not you consider this a warning is up to you), gratuitous **woobiefication** of said character, allusions to his **homosexuality** (if that's not your cup of tea … well, bad luck) as well as some (partly explicit) **sexual content**, discussions about** religion** some of you might find offensive (it's not meant to be, of course), some briefly mentioned **OCs** (mostly Thomas' family), a bit of **fluff** later on and – as usual – **ANGST**. Lots and lots of angst. (You should know me by now.)

**Notes:** I love Thomas. I absolutely do. Of all the Downton Abbey characters, he's my all-time favourite. Poor guy must've gone through a lot to be so cold … Every time he opens up a little, he shows so much depth and pure, raw emotion it's absolutely stunning. I know I'm probably putting him into a pair of nicely fitting leatherpants, but c'mon! He needs it badly.

Yes, I sympathise with him. A lot. So I thought I'd explore his troubled mind a little and give him the credit he deserves.

This fic takes place in Thomas' head, analysing his thoughts and feelings throughout the series and adding a bit here and there. He also gets a proper past and some background.

I will start at the first episode when he meets Mr Bates for the first time and work my way throughout the entire series, reiterating most of the scenes Thomas was in and some of what could have happened off-screen.

Sorry if I get anything wrong, but I am not a native English speaker and most definitely not an expert on Edwardian Britain (Wikipedia will have to do for now).

I hope you'll like it anyway =)

Format:

_'thoughts'_

_emphas_is

/ flashbacks /

"talking"

_**Will be updated every tuesday! =)**_

Feedback much appreciated.

_xxx_

There he is, the new guy.

In his late forties or fifties at least, brown hair, small eyes, a face like that of a pig and a gentle, but wimpy voice – the grandfatherly type, only about a decade to young.

He has appeared out of nowhere, with his crutch and the worn-out leather bag, a perfectly simple sight and yet there is a strange attraction about him and all eyes are immediately drawn to him – he is oddly charismatic, the way he just stands there. It's almost as if he is made out of some heavier material than anyone else in the room, something magnetic.

A friendly smile warms up his pale, pudgy face and his eyes have got a certain soft light in them like someone who has seen many things in this world and is still naïve enough to believe it is a good place to live. Yet, he radiates sadness and grief, begging for attention and refusing it at the same time.

_'Someone who's got a lot of pride and doesn't know what to do with it. Just like my father …' _

No wonder Thomas loathes him from the very first second. It's a subtle, but intense kind of hate – boiling slowly and quietly deep down in the footman's insides. He has to bite his tongue not to say anything rude.

_'A lame valet. What on earth is His Lordship thinking?'_

The others seem sceptical as well. Some express their doubts, but the new guy – John Bates – repeatedly assures them that he "can manage".

_'Oh, I'd love to see that …' _

Thomas gives the older man a sarcastic smirk. That Bates will not last long, of that he's sure. And then, Thomas will be the valet again. Maybe this time, it will be for good.

_'God, I hope so …' _

Thomas is sick of being a mere footman – serving drinks and food at fancy dinners and being paid for running around, doing nothing more important than looking good and collecting the rich people's leftovers. He hates his job. He hates being bossed around. He hates all of his colleagues, save for Sarah O'Brien, his only friend among them.

Why is he even doing this? The lousy payment can't be the reason. The beautiful mansion maybe? As long as it's not his, Thomas doesn't care. Pretty, that's what it is. Pretty and pretentious and old-fashioned.

_'After all, what are white sheets and eiderdown blankets if you cannot sleep in them? What are fancy clothes if you are not the one to wear them? What is expensive food if you are not going to taste it?_

_It's trash. All of it.' _

"Thomas", Mr Carson says, interrupting the footman's thoughts. "Take Mr Bates to his room, show him where he will be working."

_'Splendid'_, Thomas thinks, but doesn't say a word. Quietly, he turns around and Bates follows him out of the kitchen.

"Well, I can't see that lasting long", O'Brien comments for everyone to hear. And Thomas agrees with her from the bottom of his heart.

He is thankful the new valet turned out to be a cripple, but he remains a bit nervous. Even if Bates was to go soon, there still would be no guarantee Thomas would get the job this time. His Lordship likes, but doesn't trust him and both Carson and Hughes detest him anyway. Sometimes it seems like a miracle they keep him even as a footman …

When they reach the stairs, Thomas beams a gleeful smile at Bates, but the future valet manages them surprisingly well, even if he is out of breath and sweating by the time he gets upstairs. Thomas doesn't even bother to help him. Why would he? After all, Bates will have to walk up here several times a day from now on.

Without saying a word, the footman shows the other man his room, which is only two doors away from his own. Since Watson's former room contains two beds, it's bigger than Thomas' own, but other than that, it is a simple room, nothing to be jealous of. However, the happy look on Bates' face still bothers Thomas for some reason.

_'Don't get used to it, chap. You're not going to spend more than a couple of nights in here anyway.'_

"I shall be comfortable in here", the valet notes and he seems like he honestly means it.

Thomas feels his hopes die down slowly, but surely. Yes, the other man is a cripple – but he is a confident, humble, likeable one. His Lordship will love him.

Listlessly, Thomas shows the other man around the house, explaining the very necessities and not saying much else. He pretty much gives Bates the cold shoulder, not even trying to disguise his lack of sympathy for the newcomer.

Bates does not speak much, either. He seems to confuse Thomas' cold-heartedness with timidity and responds to it with soft, careful politeness.

When they are in His Lordship's room, the valet seems particularly impressed by the earl's much loved collection.

"Snuff boxes", Thomas explains, almost hopeful his rival could turn out to be a thief and thrown out off the house again. "He collects them."

"Beautiful", Bates comments, but unfortunately, his interest seems to be as genuine as it is innocent.

"Funny our job, isn't it?", he muses.

"What d'you mean?", Thomas asks, confused.

"The way we live with all this … _pirate's hoard_ within our reach and none of it is ours, is it."

"No, none of it's ours", the footman repeats, completely taken aback by the fact that the new one just uttered exactly the same thought that has crossed his own mind only a few minutes ago.

Slightly revolted – for reasons he doesn't quite understand – Thomas turns his back on the other man and leaves the room. In the hallway, he meets O'Brien who looks at him with what only he would recognise as mild sympathy.

"I can't believe I've been passed over for Long John Silver", he complains, frowning.

"You should have spoken up when you had the chance. Don't make the same mistake next time", she advises him and while Thomas knows she is right, he cannot hide his frustration.

"Who say there'll be a next time?", he retorts dryly, just when Mrs Hughes passes them by.

"Is this a public holiday no one's told me of?", she remarks, urging O'Brien and Thomas to go back to work again without having a chance to finish their conversation.

_'That woman is such a nuisance.' _

Thomas' sigh is almost inaudible, but inside of his head, a thunderstorm of fury makes it unable for him to think straight. From this moment on, he is only determined to achieve the position he deserves.

He has missed his chance, but that doesn't mean he is going to give up just like that. He will find a way, of that he's sure. No matter the cost, no matter the methods. He will not fail.

_'This is going to be unpleasant …'_

**A/N:** One thing I have to mention: I actually love Bates' character (he is such a teddy bear 3). And I am so very, very angry at both Thomas and Sarah for treating him the way they do. I will not try to excuse this.

While I do believe in the good inside Thomas, I will certainly not make him any better than he is (at least not intentionally). Remember: He _is_ a rude, arrogant prick. That's why we love him, right? =)


	2. Chapter 2

_**Warning:**_ This chapter contains **mild incest** and suggestive moments with a boy at the age of 14. If you can't stand these kinds of things … Well, you'd better go looking for another fic, because there will be more later. (Though not much.)

On the other hand: If you're really into that kind of stuff, maybe you should try _Kuroshitsuji_ … ;-)

X

Thomas has always been ambitious. It is inside of him, the power that drives him; he cannot help it, it is the very essence of his bones. He wants more from life, more than he has got already.

Being a servant … no, it's not for him. He has tried to cope and failed. He simply does not like to be pushed around – he'd rather be the one doing the pushing. Here at Downton, he has got no one to push other than that clumsy idiot William, but to be honest, that lad's no fun to torture. It's too easy with his low self-confidence and his naïve wish to do everything right and please everyone. In Thomas' eyes, he is not much more than a child – and such a bootlicker it's downright disgusting at times.

"Yes, my Lord, yes, my lady, yes, Thomas, I can do it, it's no problem, I'll see to it right away!"

All with that shaky, pathetic voice of his and that nervous smile on his lips.

He must really want the job. Or at least need it very badly.

Thomas hates the new footman's enthusiasm. To him, it's far more than a nuisance: It's a direct threat to his position. Everybody in the household loves the newcomer already. People even have alluded that perhaps someday William will be filling Carson's shoes – and Thomas cannot allow that to happen. Sure, he isn't exactly keen on staying in service forever, but if he stays at Downton, at least he wants to become a valet or butler one day and maybe do his part to keep the household running. At least that would give him some authority, perhaps even make him feel important. That, and the payment would be a lot better.

No, he cannot just stand there, twiddling his thumbs and watch while all he has worked for go to William instead. Thomas' pride would never be able to handle that.

So he does what he can to keep his co-worker's confidence low. Maybe someday, William will just give up and go. Or mess up so badly he will lose his job.

_Maybe … _

Lost in thought, Thomas chews on the end of his cigarette. He really liked doubling as Lord Grantham's valet after Watson had left. It's easy work, at least compared to what he is doing now, and Lord Grantham is an overall agreeable person. Keeping him company and talking to him wasn't that bad. Surprisingly, he appeared to like Thomas as well. The Earl even valued the footman's opinion about some things, which was a first for Thomas since he had come to Downton.

Everyone else thinks he is just some ungrateful, stupid dodger whose only qualities include his talent for complaining and scheming.

_'Well, they're not too far off, I guess …'_

Sometimes he wonders if he should just submit to his fate and make the best out of it. But he knows he could never be truly happy that way. This is not the path he would have chosen if he had gotten another chance. He wants more from life than being stuck in this huge house stuffed with all that shiny _pirate's hoard_ around and sharing his misery with people who hate or at the very least distrust him.

He has tried to be liked by them. Obviously, it hasn't worked out the way he wanted it to. Being nice has never gotten him anywhere but unfortunately, neither has his sharp tongue. However, he would never be able to shut up just to keep the peace. That simply isn't like him. He loves attention – be it negative or positive – way too much. Even though he likes to keep his distance, there is little he fears more than being ignored.

And that is what has been happening since William started his work here. People have grown fond of him rather too quickly.

Instead of eating their luncheon, the maids are all over him again, listening to his stories from home with soft, warm smiles on their faces and probably cooing inside over his adorable sensitivity.

"... I loved growing up in that house", he babbles cheerfully with a nostalgic light glittering in his pale blue eyes. "It is a very old place – not as old as Dowton Abbey, of course, but very old for a farm house, I mean – and full of all kinds of stuff that once belonged to the people who used to live there long before I was born. When I was a boy, I spent most of the time exploring the large attic. My parents hated it, because by the time I returned downstairs, I was usually covered in dust from head to toe and smelled like mice. My aunt – great aunt, to be precise – can't stand that smell. She is afraid of mice, rats … any kinds of rodents really. Must be something that happened in her childhood, but she never told me. When I was little-"

"Man, don't you ever need to catch your breath?", Thomas barks at him in a fit of annoyance. "Nobody here cares about your great aunt."

"I do", Anna retorts, patting William's arm in a motherly way.

"Me too", Gwen agrees and nods.

Thomas lets out a sigh of boredom.

"Women", he grumbles, before turning to William again. "Your food's becoming cold. And may I be so kind to remind you that we haven't got all day? Work's waiting for us. Now would you please shut up for a minute and let us eat in peace?"

Blushing slightly, William nods and focusses on his meal again without saying another word.

_'Poor boy must be homesick'_, Thomas thinks derisively. He doesn't know the feeling. He has never missed home. He is too bitter about it to even give it much thought. But for a moment, he tries to remember and pictures flash across his mind …

/ The house is a big one – and relatively new, built when Andrew, the Barrows' oldest son, was born. The dark wooden façade looks modern and rather sombre, but not uninviting. Right next to it, the small medieval church looks almost like a worn-down, crooked old man. There is something odd about the place – it just doesn't seem quite right and it would probably be even worse if it weren't for the large garden connecting the two.

Thomas, a lanky, timid schoolboy at this time, likes the garden and spends much time there. It is a little too tidy for his tastes, but he cherishes the quietness of his favourite place – the bench beneath the old pear tree right behind the house – and the rich mixture of nature's scents the garden offers throughout the year. Wet, rich soil and wild flowers in spring, rosemary and thyme in the summer, roses and dead leaves in autumn. Only winter doesn't quite compare, though the tangy but somehow pleasant scent of smoke from the chimney makes up for it a little.

Thinking of winter …

It is winter right now – snow glitters in the sun, a few birds search for food on the frozen ways leading to the house. They flutter their wings nervously and fly up when fourteen-year-old Thomas comes home from the market. In his long, skinny arms, he carries a large, heavy basket filled with potatoes and some loaves of bread.

He tries to warm up his frozen hands before unlocking the door so the key won't slip from his numb fingertips. He enters – it's warm and quiet in the house and the faint smell of yesterday's meal still lingers in the rooms and hallways. Absent-mindedly, Thomas puts the basket on the kitchen table and takes off his coat, boots and gloves before he walks upstairs to where his and his sibling's bedrooms are.

He silently opens the door to his brother's room. Peter, sick with some kind of flu again, is sleeping, as usual. His figure lies still in the dark and he snores a little, but he seems lost in peaceful slumber, so his brother decides to leave him alone. Carefully, Thomas closes the door again to go to his own room on the other end of the narrow hallway and from the shelf above his be, fetches a heavy, leather-bound book which he takes downstairs to the living room.

Passing by the fireplace, he adds another piece of wood and watches the flames greedily lick at the log for a while before he gets bored and, instead, lies down on the dark brown sofa to read. It's all silent in the house – Andrew is at work, mum and dad are away until evening and have taken Mary-Ann with them – so it doesn't take long and Thomas is completely lost in the _Arabian Nights_ once more, dreaming of the world the stories show to him; a world full of strange, vivid colours and even stranger sounds and scents. He can almost taste the sand on his tongue, mixed with the flavours of oriental delicacies and exotic spices. He loves reading about foreign countries and far away places. His hungry heart is that of a rolling stone, but trapped as he is in this town and his bourgeois family's lifestyle, all he has got to quench the burning hunger inside his chest are his sweet, sweet daydreams.

He blushes a little when he gets to the more suggestive part of some stories and suddenly, he is very glad his parents don't know what this book is about – at least not in detail. He is lucky they tolerate his hobby, even though they would prefer him reading the Bible instead of all those novels that put such bizarre ideas in his head.

Thomas doesn't listen. He doesn't care. Nobody ever cared much for him, so why would he give a damn about their opinions? In his own little world of fantasy, he is happy. He doesn't need anything else.

When someone knocks on the front door, Thomas first doesn't even notice properly. He is too caught up in the story he reads to look up as the door opens and there are loud steps in the hallway. Andrew maybe? He shouldn't be back so soon …

"Hello, anybody home?", a young male voice shouts across the house.

"In the parlour", Thomas replies and quickly finishes the sentence he's at before he closes his book. He wants to put it aside when his cousin Henry enters the room.

"You alone?", he asks.

"You do know mum and dad have taken Mary-Ann to a doctor in Leeds?", Thomas reminds the older boy. "They won't be back so soon. Maybe they'll even have to stay the night over there."

"I didn't come for them", Henry says.

"Then why are you here?"

"Maybe I wanted to see _you_?" Henry grins cheekily and tousles Thomas' black hair. Casually, he flings himself on the sofa and snatches his younger cousin's book away to read the title. "_Arabian Nights_? You naughty boy. Don't let your parents find out."

"Don't worry, I wasn't going to tell them what's it about. They think it's like a collection of fairytales or somethin'."

Thomas sighs and claims his book back to place it aside. For a moment, his eyes linger on Henry's long, slender hands.

_'No wonder he's so good at the whole clock making business … He must've some really subtle fingers'_, the boy thinks and blushes again. '_What the hell are you thinking, Thomas?'_

"Anyway", he continues talking just to change the topic. "Why _are_ you here?"

"I told you", Henry says. "I wanted to see you."

Thomas hates to admit it, but he feels terribly flattered by those words. Someone caring for him, not any of his oh-so-interesting brothers? And it's _Henry_. The laid-back, witty, charming, confident, handsome Henry everybody (including Thomas, of course) adores so much. They used to spend a lot of time together when they were younger, but ever since Henry has started to train as a clockmaker like his father, their meetings have become rarer and much shorter.

"Shouldn't you be working with Uncle Sebastian?", Thomas asks, insecure about it all without knowing why. He doesn't know why lately, he gets all flustered and nervous in his cousin's presence when they've been such close friends all their lives, but that's the way it is.

"I guess I should", Henry responds with a shrug and a toothy grin. "I'm sure dad doesn't mind. I told him I'm not feeling well. But look, I've got us a treat."

Chuckling, Henry opens the leather bag he has brought along with him and pulls out a bottle filled with a golden liquid.

"It's brandy!", he says, grinning even wider. "The best of the best … of what I can afford at least."

"You don't really want to share that with me", Thomas states matter-of-factly with a puzzled look on his face. "What are my parents going to think if I'm drunk when they come back? I'll blame it on you without a second thought, you know that."

"Come on, Thomas, we're not gonna get you drunk. Just a little tipsy – maybe. I only want to have a glass and smoke with you. We don't have much to do with each other anymore, so started to miss you. You're fun to be with, you know that?"

Thomas feels his cheeks become even redder. There is a strange tingling sensation in his stomach he has never felt before and he is not sure it's a pleasant one.

"If you insist …", he finally agrees and gets up to fetch them some glasses. When he returns, Henry has already opened the bottle and is ready to pour a generous amount of brandy into each glass before he passes Thomas one of them.

The boy takes a sip as he sits down on the sofa next to his cousin again. The taste of alcohol feels hot and stingy on his tongue, but he likes it.

"It's good", he proclaims and sinks back into the cushions. Henry passes him a cigarette and lights it for him. This is not the first time they have smoked together, so Thomas just accepts it without a comment.

"So, how's school?", Henry asks to make some conversation.

"Boring as ever", Thomas tells him apathetically, taking a deep puff. "My marks are good, but … I don't know, it's all so uninteresting to me."

"Maybe you're like Simon. Maybe you just need a challenge. I know you're smart."

"Oh no, I'm not a genius like that. I really don't care, that's all."

"Do you know what you want to do when you're finished?"

"I have no idea yet", Thomas confesses, shrugging slightly. "Maybe I'll join you and Uncle in the clock shop. Do you think I can do it?"

"Show me your hands", Henry demands and Thomas obliges.

They both put their glasses away and gently, the older cousin takes the younger boy's hands into his to inspect them thoroughly, occasionally stroking Thomas' palm and fingers with his own in the process.

_'His hands are so soft and warm … It feels kind of nice …'_

"Are you good with these?", Henry asks and Thomas nods shyly while nervously licking his lips.

Henry beams a warm, reassuring smile at him. "Oh, I bet you are. When you've got time, you can come over to the shop if you like. I can show you some basics. Dad won't mind."

"I'd love that", Thomas says and grins back, barely noticing how his hands are still softly wrapped up in his cousin's.

"You look cute when you smile like that, you know that?", Henry whispers all of a sudden.

"Don't say things like that", the boy complains half-heartedly, feeling himself getting more and more flustered. "I'm not a child."

"Surely you are not. You've grown so much …" With a careful hand, Henry brushes a rebellious strand of hair out of his cousin's face. "And you've become so beautiful …"

"What are you doing? Henry, please …", Thomas begs, but Henry simply does no listen. The older boy just leans closer to him, snatches the cigarette from his lips and instead …

_'Sweet Christ, he's fucking _kissing_ me!'_

Thomas' eyes widen in shock. He doesn't know what to do. Should he try and push his cousin away? Or should he just let him continue? The other boy's lips on his feel so odd … but not bad. Not bad at all.

Thomas feels his heart beating faster. Out of instinct, he responds to the kiss, slowly moving his lips against Henry's.

_'But he's a man … You can't do this!'_, his conscious side tries to warn him, but he cannot stay away. A man – his cousin! - is kissing him and he _enjoys_ it. It is _wrong_, so wrong …_ 'Why? _W_hy must his lips feel so soft?'_

After what could have been either a brief second or a whole eternity, Henry lets go of his mouth again, smiling at the younger boy instead.

"I wanted to do that forever", he confesses, running his fingers down Thomas' cheek. "I hope you're not angry with me."

Slowly, Thomas shakes his head. No, he isn't angry. He is just confused. So bloody confused …

"I'm glad", Henry says and smiles. "You were so hard to stay away from … you really have no idea."

"Why?" That's all Thomas can say right now. His voice is thin, close to breaking. "Why did you do that?"

"Is that so difficult to imagine? I really like you, Thomas. I just want to show you how much …"

And in the very next moment, Henry's lips are on Thomas' again, a large hand cups the younger boy's neck and his body is pushed down on the sofa with Henry's taller, heavier figure somehow towering above him, trapping him like in a cage made of human flesh. Slowly, his cousin's free hand slides underneath his shirt, touching the bare skin of his belly.

Thomas' head starts spinning. He is not sure if he wants it and he knows it's not right, but Henry seems so confident about it all it is hard to shove him away and resist his advances.

Suddenly, Thomas' lips are broken apart by his cousins slick tongue forcefully invading his mouth. The taste of brandy and tobacco and something else … Something salty and mild, like freshly baked bread. Is this Henry's taste?

All of this happens so fast … All of these unknown feelings … Thomas can feel his blood rushing down his body and collecting somewhere between his legs. His trousers begin to tighten and his breath becomes quicker and heavier.

He knows the sensation. Sometimes, late at night, when his hands slide down his own body and he imagines a pair of lips kissing him like this, another's fingers caressing him, he feels like this, almost exactly like this, though of course, a real body pressed against his is something else entirely. But what to do now?

Desperately, he slides his arms around Henry's broad shoulders in hope to find the answer in their forbidden embrace.

Henry, however, seems to know exactly what he is doing. Passionately, his tongue plays with Thomas' when suddenly, his knee softly brushes over the younger boy's crotch, making him whimper.

It feels … it feels … it feels _good_.

Thomas, who has read so many books, doesn't know another word to describe the feeling. It is strange, yes, somehow almost painful, but not in an unpleasant way.

Slowly but surely, his resistance dies down completely.

"Do you like it?", Henry whispers to him and Thomas nods, going for another kiss.

_'I want to stay like this forever …Just-'_

Thomas doesn't get to finish the thought because in this very moment, he can hear his cousin mutter a pained curse under his breath.

"Fuck! This bloody-"

"What's wrong?", Thomas asks, confused.

"I burned my fingers", Henry explains, holding up his cousin's half-finished cigarette before throwing it into the fire.

Without thinking, Thomas grabs the other boy's hand and carefully takes the burned fingertips into his mouth, thoroughly sucking on each of them to ease the pain.

Henry simply stares at him with disbelieving adoration in his eyes. That look on his face is reward enough for Thomas.

"You are truly-", Henry attempts to say, but doesn't get any further when he is interrupted by a childish voice coming from the door.

"What are you two doing there?"

Both boys startle. For a moment, they freeze on the spot, staring into each other's eyes that are widened by panic.

This must be the end of the world … for them, anyway.

It takes a bit until Henry has finally come to his senses again and releases Thomas from under his body. They quickly sit up and brush over their clothes as if to get rid of any evidence about their … their … _indecent behaviour_, even though it is a little too late for that now.

"Peter!", Thomas shouts at his little brother standing in the door frame and desperately tries to convince his burning red cheeks to cool down a little. "What are you doing down here?"

Peter looks at him with a sullen face.

"I woke up and I felt thirsty", he replies grimly. "Last time I checked, going for a drink of water wasn't against the law, y'know."

"I'm sorry", Thomas says sheepishly, glad Peter did not see where Henry's fingers have been just a minute ago. "I'm just worrying about you, that's all."

Instantly, Peter brightens up again.

"I know you do. You all do, all the bloody time. But I'm not _that_ weak, all right?", he says and there is a hint of sadness in his grey eyes as he speaks.

"Anyway", he quickly adds, turning to Henry. "Speaking about weaklings in this family: You should stop bullying Thomas like that, Henry. I mean, look at him. He's only skin and bones, how's he supposed to defend himself?"

"Will you stop it already?", Thomas yells, arms crossed defiantly in front of his chest. "I can take care of myself. And we weren't fighting. We … we were just fooling around. No big deal."

"Well, if that's what you're saying …", Peter says and simply shrugs. "I'll go for a drink now, you two can continue with your 'fooling'."

"No, wait", Thomas says instinctively, not wanting to be left alone with his cousin right now. He blushes deeply again (this is becoming a habit …) and jumps up off the sofa, quickly tugging at his shirt in the process so the fabric would cover the already disappearing bulge between his legs.

"Sit down, I'll make you some tea", he offers his help and walks straight towards Peter to put his hand upon his younger brother's forehead.

"How's your fever coming along?", he asks.

"Much better", Peter replies, visibly happy about it. "I think I can take a walk outside today!"

"No way. It's freezing out there. You'd just end up with pneumonia … _again_."

"But I want to go! I hate being trapped in here. I'd rather be dead than having to stay in the darkness of my room for the rest of my life …"

"If you die, you'll be in _eternal_ darkness, you idiot", Thomas grumbles.

"That's not what father told me. He told me all the good people go to God's kingdom after their death."

"Yeah, sure. All the _good_ people. Like those who listen to their big brothers instead of killing themselves in the winter's cold."

Peter looks disappointed.

"You're no fun, Thomas …"

"Fine", Thomas sighs. "We can't chain you to your bed, I suppose … Fetch your blankets. You can stay down here with us, how's that?"

"Sure", Peter says, a faint smile lightening up his freckled face as he simply ignores the part about the blankets, walks over to the sofa and sits down next to Henry. The smile slowly disappears when he sees the glass in his cousin's hand.

"You two have been drinking!", the youngest boy protests. "I should tell mum."

"Come on, Peter, it's only a sip", Henry says, putting his arm around the boy's shoulders in a matey fashion. "It's not like we're drunk or anything. Want some?"

"No, thanks." Peter makes a disgusted grimace. "I hate liquor. Any kind of liquor. Tastes too much like medicine to me."

"Well, can't be helped then …" With a sly grin, Henry finishes his glass in one gulp and gets up from the sofa, just as Thomas wants to go to the kitchen in order to prepare the tea for his brother. "Wait a sec, Thomas."

"I can make some tea by myself, thank you", Thomas declines half-heartedly. He fears to be pulled into another stupid kiss once the two of them are alone in this kitchen. It never should have happened in the first place … It's too dangerous. The next time someone caught them wouldn't be so lucky.

"No, I'm leaving", Henry corrects him gently. "I've made up my mind. I can't leave my old man alone in the clock shop all day, so I'd better get back to work. It was nice being with you, however."

Thomas nods quietly.

_'That's it. No more of that _fooling_ …It's better that way.'_

Then why does his throat feel so tight all of a sudden? Why does he feel like tripping and falling into nothingness when he looks into Henry's ash-coloured, just a little bit slanted, beautiful eyes?

"You can come over to father's shop whenever you like", Henry says, smiling at him with an hopeful expression on his face. "Just … knock and I'll be there."

"I'll think about it", Thomas replies and turns away to hide the fearful look in his eyes and the way his lips are quivering from the battle that's being fought inside his head.

He tries to convince himself that it would be a bad idea to go, but deep inside, he knows the answer already … /

_'I have been so naïve back then …'_, Thomas muses and the sudden bitter taste upon his tongue ruins his appetite completely. He does not want to think about what happened back then. He likes to pretend he has got no home, no family, no first love. It's all so far away now … Like someone else's memory. Something he has picked up in a book he never truly liked.

The narrator of his memories is not him. No, not anymore. He feels like a whole new person now and that's a good thing. There is no way he would ever go back, even if he could.

He hasn't thought about his parents' house in a long while, but today, something is different. He blames it on Bates who reminds him less and less of his own father the longer Thomas looks at him, but the resemblance is still there, stirring up the smoke on the bookshelves of Thomas' past.

Speaking of Bates, the conversation somehow must have shifted to the new valet in the meantime.

Carson is walking around in the servants' dinner room, sermonizing about Downton's honour and Lord Grantham's kindness.

To distract himself, Thomas starts to ponder about which one is the butler's one true love: The job or His Lordship? The thought of Carson passionately kissing the Earl in a dark corner while shedding a guilty tear over cheating on _The Secret Honourable Book of Honourable Standards at Honourable Downton Abbey_ is most definitely amusing …

Just when Thomas wants to suppress a smirk, a voice at the door makes everyone rise from their chairs like life-size Jack-in-the-Boxes.

It's Lord Grantham.

_'Speak of the devil …'_

"Bates, my dear fellow!", he exclaims cheerfully, before turning to the other servants for a moment. "I do apologise, I should have realised you'd all be at luncheon."

"Not at all, my Lord", Carson replies, but is ignored.

"Please, sit. Sit, everyone", His Lordship continues. "I just want to say a quick hello to my old comrade in arms."

Then, turning to Bates (and leaving everyone else, Thomas included, nonplussed): "Bates, my dear man, welcome to Downton."

"Thank you, Sir." Smiling, Bates shakes the Earl's hand. Both men exchange a quick affectionate look.

Lord Grantham then turns around, addressing the servants again.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you all. Please forgive me."

He then leaves, as abruptly as he has appeared, without giving anyone the chance to ask any questions about what the bloody hell just happened.

Confused, shocked and probably a little embarrassed, the servants look around in utter disbelieve.

Bates barely shrugs.

"You never asked", he states plainly.

Thomas looks at Sarah. She looks back at him.

There are no words needed to express what the both of them are feeling right now.

_'Brothers in arms … How troublesome.'_

The footman's upper lip twitches a little, curving into something vaguely resembling a wicked grin.

_'This means war.'_

X

**A/N:** Here we go, ladies and gentlemen, our first flashback. Because hey, who _isn't_ seduced by their same-sex older cousin at the age of fourteen? ~facepalm~

But oh, teenager!Thomas … Ain't he the cutest thing ever? Well, he won't stay that sweet for long, I can promise you that. Let the dark and troubled past take over, mwhaha!

PS: Carson/Earl/Downton OT3! :p


	3. Chapter 3

"Get out of my way, you clumsy idiot", Thomas barks at William, who, in his utter stupidity, _has_ somehow managed to drop a box of silverware in the middle of the hallway – and right in front of the kitchen door, at that. Now he cowers on the floor and nervously tries to collect the shiny, delicate spoons, forks and knives he has spilled all over the floor before Carson or Hughes get the chance to notice his mistake.

Thomas, having to wait in the door frame because of that, roles his eyes in impatience. He would just push William aside and keep going, but he is too scared of accidentally spilling the drinks tries to carry upstairs.

William cringes at the rough command and tries to collect the cutlery faster, with the result the pieces just slip from his trembling fingers and it takes even more time.

"Come on, I haven't got all day", Thomas continues nagging. "Next time, try stumbling over your own feet somewhere else, you-"

"I'm sorry", William mumbles sheepishly and looks like a puppy someone has abandoned in the cold streets.

His pathetic expression almost makes Thomas want to give him the kick in the face his watery blue eyes so desperately beg for, but the older man restrains himself. His standards might not be very high, but actual physical violence is below them. There are other – more satisfying – ways …

At least by now his rival is insecure enough to mess up such easy tasks. Now it will not be long until he will be gone from the mansion and some less sympathetic newcomer will take his place. Someone who is no such threat to Thomas' position.

_'Where is Carson when you need him?'_

Footsteps from the stairs. Hopefully, Thomas looks up, not even trying to hide the smile of absolute glee on his lips, but the grin vanishes instantly when it is Bates' pudgy face looking back at him with eyes that could kill.

"What has happened?", the valet asks sympathetically as he turns his attention towards William – without taking his eyes off of Thomas. Bates probably thinks the first footman has pushed his younger colleague to the ground even if that is not the case; this time, it has been William's clumsiness and his clumsiness alone which has granted Thomas this great opportunity.

"Nothing at all, Mr Bates", William says quickly. "I- I just tripped."

Bates nods. And then, groaning in pain, he kneels down next to the footman and quietly helps him to pick up the rest of the silverware.

"That … That's not necessary, Mr Bates", the lad stammers and squirms like a worm on a hook. "It was my mistake, I should be the one to-"

"Come on, William, it's all right", Bates says with a warm fatherly smile while handing William the tray. "It could happen to me, too."

William manages a faint smile as he lifts up from the floor and lends the crippled valet a hand to help him up as well.

"Thank you, Mr Bates."

"No problem. Just be a bit more careful in the future." Again, Bates gives Thomas sidewards glance filled with hatred. "Don't let it get you down. Rome was not built on a day either. You will eventually make a good footman one day."

"That's not for you to decide, Mr Bates", Thomas grumbles. He cannot allow for Bates to boost his trainee's confidence, thus ruining all of Thomas' hard work. "And William, I expect you to polish the silver again. Or do you want His Lordship's family to eat with something we've just picked up from the ground?"

"But what about my other chores?", William objects weakly. "I have yet to-"

"That's not my problem. I did not cause this mess."

Without any further comment, Thomas turns his back on the scene and walks upstairs to tend to the spoiled brats awaiting him upstairs. Exactly what he needs now to lift his mood …

But he tries his best to smile or at least appear normal. He cannot risk being perceived as unsympathetic by Lord Grantham and his family. They are his employers, after all, and if they kick him out, all of his plans to get rid of William and Bates will be in vain in the end anyway.

He sighs without making a sound.

Who is he kidding? Nobody here finds him even remotely sympathetic, save perhaps for starry-eyed, kind-hearted Lady Grantham who doesn't have to say much in this matter and maybe her husband – and he obviously values Thomas so much he could not wait to replace him with that cripple. Brothers in arms or not, this was a stupid idea even by Lord Grantham's standards …

Ultimately, Thomas will only be doing him a favour. Isn't that what a good servant is expected to do?

Of course, the way he wants to 'help' his employer make the right decision is not fair, neither towards Bates nor William, but Thomas is not one to play by the rules. In fact, all of his actions are shameful and selfish, but to him, it's all the same. He doesn't care anymore.

Maybe he shouldn't wonder so much why everyone in the household despises him so much. Maybe he should feel bad.

Maybe he should. But he doesn't.

Thomas is not a man of virtue – he has never been and he will never be. There is no regret in his heart, none at all. It's his right to push others around like he has been pushed in the past and still is today. It's his right to lie and steal and scheme what could never belong to him legally.

It's his right and that is all there is to it.

Morals, sentimentality, kindness … Such things are for the weak and the self-righteous. Such things are for hypocrites and bigots. Thomas has long pushed aside those silly human morals. It's no give and all take for him. Selfish, yes, but efficient.

It's simply his way to survive. A lone wolf stealing the prey of those weaker than him.

It gets a bit lonely sometimes, yes, but it's all right – he doesn't need anyone.

… or so it should be.

His heart clenches a little in his chest. He knows it is a sign of weakness, but that's him – still human underneath the façade, no matter how hard he tries to fight it off.

Sometimes … Yes, sometimes he feels like he has finally reached his goal of becoming completely cold inside. He feels nothing, only greed, that burning hunger to fill the void inside of him. Worldly goods are enough. Who needs 'love' or 'emotions'? There are times when those concepts seem completely alien to him and that's a _good_ thing. No rules, no attachments - it's simply perfect this way.

But then he wonders whether there is still some life left inside of him. There are times he truly feels as dead as a stone inside. Nothing really gets to him, nothing affects him in any way.

Until suddenly, the mask crumbles and the flame he has believed has been extinguished burns up bright and hot again. It eats at him, making the void even larger and his shell even thinner. It barely hurts, but it weakens him, suffocates him slowly.

He cannot sleep; at night in his bed, he lies wide awake and stares up to the ceiling until he can't fight the urge to succumb to his feelings any more. Quietly, he gets up in the pitch black darkness, walks over to his closet and takes out the bundle of letters he keeps in there. Softly, he presses them to his heart and allows himself to be washed over by yearning for someone to hold him, to stroke his hair, to just be there and tell him there is something worthy, something lovable about him.

He stands there until his feet get cold and his legs get tired. After a while, the overwhelming sensation of loneliness fades away, leaving nothing behind but the hollow shell of a broken man. It hurts, somehow – like needles pressed into numb flesh. Yet, he shows no emotion when it hits him; just gets back to bed, curls up on the side with his knees pulled up and his pillow held firmly in his arms as if he was lost at sea and that pillow was the only plank keeping him from drowning in the deep, black waters.

It's such a childish notion.

After all these years, he still feels ashamed of himself every night, of the fact that _this_ is the only position he can find sleep in. Thankfully, nobody knows – well, nobody, save for _that_ man. The only one Thomas has been sharing a bed with during the last couple of years.

To be honest, Thomas misses sleeping next to him. Those few weeks have gone by way too fast …

Only a tormenting emptiness remains, wistfully echoing in his veins with every beat of his pulse.

And it does not seem to get any better.

They both haven't seen each other in a while now but at they write to each on a regular basis – passionate letters Thomas knows probably make him look ridiculous, but simply speak the truth about how he feels, so they mean a lot to him. It has been always so much easier for him to write his thoughts down instead of saying them out loud. There is something uncertain about spoken words, something that makes him scared. One word might slip from his lips he actually never wanted to say or maybe his voice would break or give away more than he would have wished for.

When he pours his heart unto the paper, it is so much easier for him. He can read and reread it before giving it away. If he accidentally says something he does not want to share, he offers his words to the flames instead and gone they are, leaving no evidence of their existence but a few crumbs of ash and a faint memory in Thomas' own mind. It's safe.

There are some occasions when he lies awake at night and thinks of all the things he would like to put into a letter to his beloved or even tell him face to face. It is such an odd thing to ponder about. While still embraced by the dark, the words taste so sweet on his tongue when Thomas imagines how they would probably fall from his lips, how they would sound if he spoke them aloud. He wants _that_ man to listen, to hear every single shred of doubt and insecurity in Thomas' voice, to feel the love and adoration in his words.

But when the morning comes, the sweet taste becomes stale and the sounds become dull. Thomas feels his throat tighten in shame. Suddenly, he is glad he never got the chance to say them to anyone, least of all to _that_ man …

Nevertheless, the subtle pain still lingers in his chest. He longs for more, so much more. The letters aren't enough. He wants a hand to hold and a pair of lips to kiss and two eyes to drown in. It's foolish, he knows that, but somehow it has happened:

Thomas is _in love_.

And he is much more serious about it than he would like. He wants to be with his lover. If it's with _him_, Thomas knows he can face a servant's life. If it's with _him_, he knows he can be happy or at least something similar.

_'If only there was a way …' _

Before he realises what is happening to him, he starts dreaming a little. A good life as a valet, a lover at his side – not the best option, but he would try to be content with that.

In his mind, it seems so easy: He would just hand in his notice and move over to _that_ man's place. Two simple steps.

'_Or maybe we could- …No, but … Perhaps … If only- …'_

And out of the blue, it hits him. Like a stroke of lightning right through the chest.

_'Why didn't I think of this sooner?'_

A grin forms on his face and his heart beats a little harder.

Maybe there _is_ a way …

X

**A/N:** I hate to write about William and poor Mr Bates in this way, but oh well. It's only some fictional character's opinion. And that guy's not even my own creation. (Though he reminds me of bitchy Psycho Lesbian Vampire Princess Sirin from my novel a bit … ~cough cough~ Well, there philosophy is roughly the same. )

First Thomas/Duke in this … And man, that couple is a tricky thing to pull off. I mean, it's left so ambiguous in the series what really happened between them. Was it really like a summer fling? Was it love? Were they somehow using each other? Or maybe all of the above?

I decided to work with the latter option, but I'll elaborate on it in a few more wangsty flashbacks coming soon. Hooray! ^.^


	4. Chapter 4

Everything is almost suspiciously _perfect_ when Thomas asks Carson to give him a few hours off to go to the village. The butler is in a generous mood and lets him go, nobody asks any stupid questions, even the weather is almost sickeningly nice and warm.

Yes, indeed, it's a really lovely spring day, with birds singing in the trees and the smell of life evaporating from the moist soil, people cheerfully chattering in the streets while rays of sunlight are reflected from their shiny eyes… The sight is absolutely gorgeous.

While Thomas is not the sentimental kind and some sunshine and chirping songbirds won't make him coo, he _does_ appreciate true beauty when he sees it.

Is this what they call a 'good omen'? Well, he isn't really superstitious … However, it doesn't even matter. Even if it were raining cats and dogs today, Thomas would know he has made the right decision.

Maybe … yes, maybe destiny has finally decided to be nice to him for once.

_'Actually, it is kind of ironic when you think about it …' _

After all, it has been the Titanic incident, the one that has left the inhabitants of Downton Abbey desperate and afraid of their future and caused the death of two innocent men, which has given him hope.

On the other hand – isn't it always this way? He never seems to get the chance to be happy without someone else getting hurt in the process. He did not exactly _choose_ to live that way – but that's just how things are. So why should he take the blame? It's not like he caused that bloody iceberg to hit the ship …

Not for a single moment he feels sorry for poor Patrick Crawley and his father who both drowned or froze to death in the pitch black ocean. Of course Thomas doesn't think they deserved it, but he barely knew them, so why give a damn? If their fate is what offers him new possibilities – splendid. Why waste them just because someone else found a tragic death earlier?

No, it's all right the way it is. It's perfect.

Thomas smiles and takes a deep breath of sweet fresh spring air. Things are changing for him, he can practically taste it. Like the faint hint of blood catching a hound's attention.

There is a strange tingling in the footman's guts. Is this … _happiness_?

Well, not quite. Not yet. But close. Close enough to make his head spin.

He would have never thought it could actually end up like this … No, not when he met _that man_ for the first time.

His mind begins to wander off a little when he remembers their fateful first encounter …

* * *

><p> Warm reddish light falls through the large windows of the summerhouse. It's a clear, sunny day here as well – only that it's not spring, but the beginning of the Season. It has been an extraordinarily hot day; even now, as night slowly approaches, the faint evening breeze barely disturbs the dust and foul smell lingering in the streets of London.

This is one of these days Thomas detests his job even more than usual. Especially the fact he has to wear this goddamned black uniform all the time drives him insane. His back and gloves are practically soaked in sweat and he yearns for release, but all he can do is hope for the night to bring milder temperatures.

He would have liked to go out tonight – visit some old acquaintances, maybe shake off the stress in a dance hall – but even though Lord Grantham and Lady Mary are away for the next two days and Thomas could have hoped for an early evening, things are not going as planned.

A certain Duke of Crowborough has invited himself over for dinner tonight and since there currently is only one footman in the household, Thomas will be spending half the night standing motionlessly with his back against the wall like a decorative statue and occasionally carry some plates around.

All because some bloody Duke of Who-gives-a-damn wants to have a chat with Lady Grantham and a free meal.

Thomas hates his job. He really does.

He sighs and opens the window he is supposed to be polishing, only to be washed over by a wave of sticky heat and the sound of children laughing in the distance. With casual curiosity, Thomas leans out of the window to search for the source of the noises. As it turns out, there are three boys playing ball in the otherwise quiet streets of this quarter. Two are dressed in cheap, simple summer shirts (Lucky them!), but the third one, who is wearing a rather exquisite suit complete with a frilly jacket is obviously the offspring of one of the noble families who have all gathered here for the Season.

The poor boy is hopelessly panting and even from the distance, his face looks as red as a ripe cherry from the heat. There is no way he can possibly keep up with the other children, so he finally decides to take off his jacket and carelessly throws it aside.

Thomas watches all this with a mixture of sympathy and slight amusement. So little Mr Blue Blood chooses to risk punishment by his parents over being different and possibly become an outcast …

How very human of him. At least he is a lot smarter than Thomas was at his age. Some harsh lines of bitterness appear on the footman's forehead. His own youthful wish to be special has backfired spectacularly and now he has to deal with what has been broken.

Here he stands, caught in a world where he is little more than a luckier man's belonging, when instead he could have become a clockmaker by now, living happily married in his home town, maybe with a child or two already – if he just had been normal.

On the bright side, this way at least his wish to become a man of the world has come true. After a few years more or less on the road, he has seen enough to last a lifetime … And he should probably be content with that. Maybe being a servant isn't so bad after all. Maybe he should just lighten up and accept it.

So why can't he?

Carefully, he puts down his cloth and bucket and closes the window again. For a moment, he has to squint his eyes because he is blinded by the setting sun reflected from the shiny glass. Is it that late already?

Thomas takes a look at his pocket watch. Already past seven o'clock. About time for the Duke to arrive.

So the footman puts away the cleaning utensils and gets ready to welcome the guest. In his room, when he looks in the mirror, he is glad he doesn't look quite as dishevelled as he thought he would. Still, he isn't keen on looking less than perfect while greeting a nobleman, so he quickly changes his damp shirt for a fresh one and redoes his hair until he is vaguely satisfied with his appearance. He practices a smile, but it just does not look right on him. As usual. The times when he had been complimented for his beautiful smile are long gone … It's no surprise. He knows very well that time will take away the rest of his good looks sooner than he'd like. What will be left then? His superficial beauty is all he ever had to use to his advantage … The only thing people admire about him. It's his free ticket to the hearts of the naïve and the shallow. If he loses that, what will happen?

Well, he will probably end up like Carson: A stuck-up, lonely old man who has nothing to cling to but his job and a bundle of a butler's aesthetics. Carson might be happy with it, but Thomas doesn't want to end up all alone, in charge of a big house or not.

Sometimes, especially when in London, he just wants to pack his things and go; get a new job, a new home, some friends, maybe fall in love. But he still remembers how his last attempt to make a living in the capital ended …

No, that won't work either.

Checking his reflection one more time, Thomas walks out the room and closes the door to get to the front door. He has to hurry now. Good thing Carson is with Lord Grantham and Lady Mary right now …

Lady Grantham and Lady Edith step into the hall just when Thomas arrives there. Both are more made up than ever, showing off what looks like the most expensive dresses and jewellery they own.

Is today's guest really that important and influential? Thomas has neither heard of nor seen him until now, even if the Duke's summerhouse is only a few blocks away from the Granthams'.The footman doesn't even know the Duke's full name or his age.

… not that he cares, of course. But he still is a little curious what all this charade is for when the bell rings and he opens the door while he desperately tries to keep the sour look of his face. It takes a lot of effort, but somehow he manages – and he is glad he does when he lays eyes upon the guest for the first time.

_That smile. _

It is simply overwhelming. Big, charming, a little bit gleeful. It gives the already pretty young Duke a slightly boyish experience and exaggerates how very attractive he is – and judging from his movements which practically flow over with confidence, he is well aware of the fact.

Thomas' sulky mood fades away in a split second. He is too busy ogling the handsome nobleman who even gives him an even wider smile when he hands him his cane … and Thomas heart stops painfully when their eyes meet.

Narrow, sparkling eyes of a dark hazel colour … But in shape and expression just like those he would never be able to forget for the rest of his life. Along with that smile, he almost feels like standing right in front of his first love all over again!

Tormenting memories flood his mind for a moment. His first kiss, his first time to make love. His childish insecurity. The fast pace of his heart. The unbearable pain when it is broken for the first time.

He swallows hard.

_'This is certainly _not_ a great start …'_

His smile begins to fade in shock. Thankfully, the Duke doesn't notice because he is busy greeting the two ladies and having some pointless smalltalk with them.

There is a nervous ringing in Thomas' ears, but he tries his best to relax. It doesn't really work. For some reason, he gets the strange feeling destiny has just tapped him on the shoulder; now he only needs to find out what it wants …

* * *

><p>The evening continues rather calmly. Lady Grantham and the Duke mostly talk about this year's Season and social events, Lady Sybil, who is currently staying with her grandmother for one more summer before she will become a proper part of society next season, and Lady Mary whom the Duke seems quite fond of as Thomas notices with growing jealousy.<p>

It's idiotic. Why does it even bother him? He barely knows the man he has just met tonight, but for some completely irrational reason, with each passing minute, he feels closer and closer to him.

There is something about the Duke, something that does not quite fit … Maybe it's the way his grin is just a little too shallow and does not always reach his eyes or perhaps it's the almost unnoticeable sarcastic tone in his voice. Maybe it's the way his hands move with such careful grace, as if the strings that hold this world together are attached to them. Something about the long, slender digits indicates they are pulled down by the weight and have to struggle not to lose control. There is an invisible burden on the Duke's shoulders.

The more Thomas observes him, the more he is sure their honoured guest is only playing a role. He is wearing a mask, like every noble does nowadays, but every time they exchanged a glance across the room, Thomas gets the feeling the secrets the Duke keeps hidden are a little darker than usual – and something about that thought is so very, very seductive …

Another look, another smile.

This time, it is more than just a quick, polite glance. This time, it lingers on, just a heartbeat too long and a bit too deep. Thomas chokes down his reflex to gasp in surprise. This is no accident anymore. Is the Duke really trying to get his attention? No. No, it's not possible!

But his piercing eyes are filled with honest, undisguised interest. Thomas smirks back at him to signal he is just as intrigued in turn.

The hint of a nod; he is understood. A feeling of satisfaction rushes through Thomas' veins.

They are one and the same.

And of course Thomas would not be Thomas if he had no idea how to exploit the situation to his advantage …

* * *

><p>Much to Thomas' disappointment, the interested looks and flirtatious glances did not last as long as he would have wanted them to. Instead, Lady Edith, who had been pretty much ignored at first, finally managed to become the focus of the conversation until everyone had left the dinner table and moved over to the drawing room to have some tea.<p>

Thomas stands stoically in a corner, completely deadpan, and tries not to stare at the handsome Duke too much just for his entertainment. The nobleman's charms must have gone to Thomas' head. His spellbound behaviour is starting to become just a little ridiculous. But no matter how hard he tries, he cannot help it – this is a major weakness of his. Once a man has struck his fancy, his mind simply refuses to function properly. He reminds himself to be careful. He has to take it slow if he wants to use the Duke's interest for his own goals. One false move and it will all fall apart like a house of cards, possibly with unpleasant consequences …

After a while, the Duke puts down his empty cup and waves for Thomas to pour him some more tea. The footman steps forward to do his duty, but just when he bows down, the Duke turns around, accidentally bumping his shoulder against Thomas' arm.

It all happens very fast: The cup rolls to the ground, fortunately without breaking and, even worse, some of the tea gets spilled over the Duke's white shirt.

Thomas' eyes widen in shock. Oh no … Oh no … Oh …

_'Bloody hell'_, he curses in his mind and tries to quickly think of a proper way to apologise

"Please forgive me, Your Grace, I didn't …", he stammers, but the Duke cuts him off before he can finish.

"No, not at all", he says softly, patting Thomas' arm in a benevolent gesture. "It was my fault. I will be fine if I can just go and quickly rinse it with water so there will be no stains."

He turns to Lady Grantham with an inquisitive look on his face.

The Lady, trying to hide the relief in her eyes, nods.

"Of course", she says. "Thomas will tend to it immediately to make up for his mistake. I'm terribly sorry for this incident."

"Like I said, it was my mistake, not his", the Duke insists with a smile and gets up. Thomas quickly picks up the cup from the floor and tells the guest to follow him to the nearest bathroom.

His cheeks are flaming red, but he hopes the other man won't notice. This isn't exactly what Thomas has planned …

They speak no word as they pass through the dark and quiet hallways. With each passing second, Thomas feels his throat tightening even more. He cannot really tell what bothers him more: The embarrassment or being alone with the Duke?

When they arrive at the nearest bathroom, Thomas dutifully opens the door and goes in first to light some of the candles inside so the Duke doesn't have to step into the darkness.

He then prepares some water while the nobleman comes in and pulls the door shut behind them. The air suddenly feels hot and syrupy, making it hard to breathe.

"Could you please take of your shirt, Your Grace?", Thomas asks nervously, not daring to look the other man in the eyes.

"Isn't it your duty to help me?", the Duke requests, sounding slightly amused.

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry."

Thomas turns around to him and, with shaking hands, starts to loosen the guest's bow tie. The Duke just chuckles.

"Is something the matter, Your Grace?", Thomas asks in bewilderment.

"Tell me, what's your name?"

"Thomas, Your Grace."

"Thomas? That's a good name. I shall remember it."

Thomas lifts an eyebrow. He did not expect to be treated with such kindness. Does that mean he hasn't lost yet? It's worth a try …

With the most charming smile he can manage, he timidly looks up into the Duke's startling eyes and moves a little closer while he continues to unbutton the nobleman's shirt. The Duke does not even bat an eyelid; he just smiles back.

So Thomas decides it's time to become a bit more daring …

His right hand brushes lightly over the tea stains on the fabric covering the other man's chest and, with fake submissiveness, the footman slightly tilts his head to the side.

"I cannot apologise enough for this", he whispers in a sultry voice. "I am deeply sorry. I have got no idea what happened. _Something_ must have made me a little ... _nervous_. I have never had an _accident_ like this …"

A high-pitched, but soft laugh from the Duke causes Thomas to frown. Did he overact?

Just in this moment, the other man's hand grips his own.

"It was no accident", the Duke replies with a smug smile.

Both men exchange an intense look.

"Pardon me?", Thomas says flatly, but before he gets the chance to even realise what's going on, the Duke suddenly grabs him tightly by the wrists and slams him with the back against the wall. Without warning, his lips are caught in what isn't quite a kiss, more like a violent a struggle for something his guest-turned-lover craves more than oxygen right now. Their mouths are pressed so tightly together it almost hurts.

Thomas needs a moment to collect his senses. His eyes are wide open in surprise. It's been a while since he has had a lover this demanding … And he has almost forgotten how much he likes it.

For a minute, he can't believe this is real. He even refuses to breathe, as if this was a dream and it would fall apart with one single inconsiderate movement.

But in the end, his yearning for more gets the upper hand. Hesitantly, he begins to respond, turning their clumsy kiss into a deep, passionate one. He is astonished by how much both of them seems to _need_ each other – even if though just met, their bodies almost act on their own, intertwining like the Gordian knot, with both of them trying to get as close to each other as physically possible.

It feels so natural …

Thomas feels how his whole body his overwhelmed by heat. He wants to melt into their embrace …

Right now, there is no rhyme or reason, no time, no sense of control – even the world seems to have vanished completely. It's just them – like two kinds of chemicals that react with a bright explosion at close contact.

The experience is shockingly beautiful.

Thomas grabs the other man by his full brown locks and tries to pull him into a position that could give both of them a bit more 'satisfaction', but much to his surprise, the Duke gently pushes him away.

"Not yet …", he murmurs softly and grins, running his fingers down Thomas' cheek. "Even if there is nothing in the world I want more right now …"

"Then do what your body tells you to do", Thomas, still panting heavily, teases him. He doesn't want to stop right there … He couldn't bear it.

"Please, Thomas, don't make this any harder for me", the Duke says almost suppliantly. "You are so hard to resist. I've been waiting for this moment all evening. With your eyes on me … I don't know. I couldn't have held back any longer …"

"There's no need to hold back anymore", the footman insists and leans forward to gently kiss the Duke's neck. "No one will ever know …"

"That's not it. I want you. Just not like that." The Duke sighs and nervously runs his hand through his own hair. "I want you _properly_. So …" He pauses shortly. "If I ask you to visit my house tonight, will you come?"

Thomas is puzzled. In a pleasant way, but still.

"Wouldn't that attract too much attention?", he points out. "I mean ...what about your servants?"

"Don't worry about that", the Duke assures him. "My butler will let you in. He won't ask questions, I promise. Our secret is safe with him. Just knock on the back door three times. He will open. Just say you want to see me. Nothing more. He will lead you to my room. It's easy like that. So please, Thomas, say you will come!"

Now it is Thomas' turn to sigh. How could he resist those playfully pleading eyes? Or that charming smile? Or the way those fingers caress his neck and make it impossible to think straight?

"I will, Your Grace", he finally agrees, causing the Duke to lighten up immediately.

"I'm glad to hear that", the nobleman says and gives Thomas a quick kiss on the lips. "Just one more thing …"

"Hmm?"

"Just call me Aleister …"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I'm terribly, terribly sorry I couldn't make it last week, but university stuff was keeping me busy. (To be honest, it still is.)

I couldn't find any indication for what the Duke's first name could be, so I named him Aleister in honour of a certain character called Aleister Chamber … who is pretty much the Duke of Crowborough in psycho. And a lot hammier.

I had "Burden of Beauty" by Lunascape on loop while writing this chapter. I think it shows! xD

Actually, I can't believe how much I enjoyed writing this … considering I used to hate the Duke. I changed my mind. In this interpretation he DOES genuinely like, maybe even _love_ Thomas, but decides to leave him for some reason I have no idea what it could be, but we'll probably never find out anyway. Or will we? ~wiggles eyebrows~


	5. Chapter 5

When he later returns to Downton, Thomas finds Sarah smoking in the courtyard. She looks at him in impatient anticipation she tried to suffocate underneath her usual stiffness. He did not tell her where he had been about to go, so naturally she is curious from the moment she lays eyes on him.

"And where have you been?", she asks, not bothering to say hello.

"The village", Thomas explains, completely deadpan. "To send a telegram if you must know."

"Oh, pardon me for living", she retorts sarcastically, possibly sensing that he is hiding something from her, but she keeps quiet and offers him a cigarette when he sits down next to her.

"Well, Murray didn't stay long", she continues while he is busy lighting the cigarette. Like you would expect it from a nosy woman like her, she is really into all that inheritance business Thomas hasn't cared for at all … Until now.

"Does Her Ladyship know how they left it?", he asks.

"No. They talked it all through on the way back from the church."

"If I was still his valet, I'd get it out of him", Thomas says a little wistfully when he remembers those blessed days when Bates wasn't around.

"Bates won't say a word", Sarah muses bitterly.

"He will not. I bet you a tanner he's a spy in the other direction." The footman gives his friend a look of frustration. "I wanted that job. We were all right together, His Lordship and me."

Sarah, as usual, keeps her cynical, dry calm.

"Then be sure to get your foot in the door when Bates is gone", she advises him with as much sympathy as someone like her can manage.

"You can't get rid of him just because he talks behind our backs", Thomas points out. At the moment, he is rather unmotivated to go through with his plan to get Bates sacked. He would much prefer it if his backup plan worked out the way he wants it to, but well, he can't be sure after all.

Sarah turns her head around and looks at him in all seriousness.

"There's more than one way to skin a cat …"

Thomas smirks at her.

"What are you implying, _Miss O'Brien_?", he asks curiously.

"Leave that to me. If His Lordship doesn't notice Bates' flaws by himself, I think we as his servants should dutifully assist him a little", she replies and returns the smile, although hers is a bit less cheerful than Thomas' and instead more jaded.

"It's only for his own sake", the footman adds and nods. He may not admit or even show it, but something about the way Sarah always has his back makes him feel all warm inside, but in this case also a little guilty. He has not told her about his plans. She doesn't even know about what happened between him and Aleister. For some reason, Thomas never found a proper way to tell her. Why is he keeping this secret from her? He doesn't even know!

They trust each other. And even if he never tells her this, she is dear to him, almost like a friend. She should know the truth. She deserves it.

Still, he can't speak. He feels strangely tongue-tied when it comes to this topic. He wants to talk, but his lips don't move. He can't. This is his secret and his alone. His heart won't let go of it. It holds onto it with iron claws.

He looks at her with nervous eyes. If she ever finds out, will she feel betrayed?

_'I wouldn't blame her'_, Thomas thinks and lifts his gaze to the blue sky, watching the smoke from his cigarette melt with the clouds above.

* * *

><p> If Thomas had to say what he likes best about being with Aleister, it has to be that inner feeling of peace and quiet that fills him when he is with his lover. Of course, it is risky to sneak out of the Grantham's summerhouse almost every night when he doesn't get the evening off, this is definitely worth it.

This room … This ridiculously pompous, old-fashioned room with the red velvet curtains and the expensive carpet - it is their secret hide-out. Perfectly simple, almost painfully obvious, yet no one would ever catch them here.

Aleister lives with his mother, but she doesn't come to London during the Season anymore. According to the Duke, the sudden death of her husband twelve years ago has hit her way too hard. The household only has a few servants – three maids, two of which have stayed with the Duchess, a cook and a footman whose clumsiness would put William to shame. Or so Thomas is told, since naturally, he never gets to see any of them.

And then there is Richardson, the butler, the man Aleister trusts with even his darkest secrets. But Richardson won't say a word – literally, for he is mute as Thomas has noticed with quite some surprise on their first encounter. Still, Aleister thinks highly of the elderly butler and speaks of him with a kind of respect and affection one would only have for a father figure.

As it seems, Richardson does pretty much everything in this household and he is good at it, despite his obvious handicap. The thought makes Thomas a bit jealous. Butlers often seem to get a lot of respect for their work. Footmen, not so much.

Thomas frowns and runs his eyes down Aleister's slender figure half lying, half sitting next to him in the bed. That lovable rouge. A smug bastard in one second and a soft-spoken, sophisticated gentleman in the next. Tender at times, even romantic. A liar par excellence and Thomas knows it. That's part of the appeal. The footman has always been a fool for men like that. He craves the challenge. And Aleister is an interesting example. Thomas still hasn't figured out which kind of game they are playing.

The Duke isn't the type who tries to make himself scarce just to appear mysterious. It's quite the opposite: He has been surprisingly open about his personal situation so far. He has told Thomas all about his family and that, despite his title and influence, he isn't exactly what you would call obscenely rich, especially not since the death of his father that has caused his mother to become a bit … 'eccentric'. But that doesn't matter. He is still well-to-do enough for a poor footman to take advantage of, so that is not the problem.

It's just … the way he has opened up to Thomas, even if the servant is barely as talkative and emotional in turn. Despite the complete lack of trust between them, there is a connection, a bond that goes deeper than every relationship based on honesty could go. It's insane, in a way, absolutely and totally illogical, but it is there, without any doubt and without any reason.

And so, what started out as a completely physical summer fling has turned into something more serious surprisingly quickly. By now, they spend just as much time just being _together_ – talking or not – as they engage in the sexual part of their odd relationship.

Thomas has never intended this to go this far. He never would have believed he would someday go from merely being attracted to the handsome nobleman to genuinely enjoying his company, but that's exactly what already happened.

He likes being here, wasting his time with the man he just wanted to use for his own gain in the beginning. What has happened to that? He wants to be with Aleister as much as he can and when they are not together, he longingly looks forward to the time they meet again. Nothing else is on his mind all day, no matter if he tends to his daily chores, eats, smokes or rests. The thought is always present in the back of his mind and refuses to go away.

What is happening to him?

He is afraid of the obvious answer.

There is no way this is more than just a passing infatuation. There is no way he could have possibly fallen for the shady, self-absorbed Duke of Crowborough.

No. He hasn't. Never.

Trying to chase the thought away, he reaches out his hand and gently touches his lover's arm to attract his attention.

Aleister looks up from the book he is reading out loud – an old, worn-down copy of _Hamlet –_ and instead at Thomas who silently turns from his side to his back, exposing as much of his naked flesh as he possibly can in the process while the candlelight softly flickers across his pale skin. He gives the Duke a seductive smirk and is rewarded with a kiss that starts out harmlessly enough, almost chaste, but quickly becomes a lot more intimate.

Thomas loves passion. He loves the way it washes over him and burns away the doubts, casting a light so bright into his soul, he becomes blind to the hidden pain lurking in the shadows. There is no thing as sweet in this world as this pure white obliviousness.

Both men move closer to each other. The book slides out of Aleister's hands; neither of them cares. They just sink into each other's embrace and forget that there is a real world right outside the window. This is it. This is what Thomas wants forever.

And he cannot help but feel a little sad inside when he remembers that this won't last long after all. The Season is almost over. Their time is almost up. Soon, they will be separated by miles and miles. The thought is like an icy breeze in Thomas' neck, a constant threat that is driving him paranoid, even if escaping is pointless anyway.

"What am I supposed to do without you?", he breathes against his lover's neck and a single second later, he can't believe he actually said that out loud.

"Don't worry", Aleister tries to comfort him and holds him even tighter. It is almost painful. "I will write to you. We will meet again, I promise you that."

"Just let me come with you", Thomas pleads like he never has before. "Whether I work for you or Lord Grantham – what does it matter?"

"I can't do that, Thomas", Aleister gently rejects his offer. "Don't you think it a little weird that one evening, you spill tea on me and a few weeks later, you start to work for me without explanation? People would start to talk. I've heard Lady Edith likes to gossip …"

"Let them talk as much as they want", Thomas grumbles. "What are they supposed to do without any proof?"

The Duke laughs coldly and without any joy.

"You have no idea", he says. "The closer you are to the top, the easier it becomes for society to eat you alive with rumours and words." He sighs and turns his face away for a moment. "You don't know what it was like growing up with my mother – you know, acting like she does, refusing to leave the house and being afraid of every stranger she sees … It has never been easy. People _expect_ me to be different and break the unwritten laws of their wholesome little world. They are like vultures, waiting for me to finally break down. I have worked on my reputation for as long as I can think and so far, it has worked, but it is a fragile thing. One false move and they … Please, Thomas, try to understand that I don't want to ruin what I have fought for so long."

Thomas bites his lips to resist the urge to pout like a little kid.

"I still want to leave with you and never look back …", he insists and sighs. "Another endless year stuck in Downton Abbey … This is all so frustrating."

"If you really want to leave, I will find something for you", Aleister promises and tenderly takes his lover's hand in his. "Just give it some time."

Slowly, Thomas nods. Then, he grabs Aleister's chin and pulls him into a kiss so hard it makes their lips turn white and stirs their thoughts until they become unrecognisable. /

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I'm so sorry … But I'm late again! Well, it's only one day this time, so it will not really change anything, but still. Unfortunately, I didn't make it earlier because I had to write an essay for Educational Science (most useless subject ever, but as a teacher in the making, I need to take it anyway) and yesterday, when I looked at what I had written so far, I decided to go with the above flashback instead of the Duke's letter I had planned to include originally because that didn't explain some things that are important for this part of the story.

Since I didn't have that much time, it's a little short … But I guess it turned out okay. I like that 'thing' that's going on between the Duke and Thomas. I think they had great chemistry onscreen and it was a shame their scenes together lasted a total of … I don't know, five minutes or something? Well, that's what I'm here for, I guess … =)

Next chapter next tuesday, as planned.

**Happy holidays to you! XOXO  
><strong>

PS: Anyone else looking forward for the _Downton Abbey Christmas Special_? +.+


	6. Chapter 6

During the following days, O'Brien and Thomas do their very best to plot against Mr Bates.

They manipulate his work and raise their concerns about the new valet's qualification for his job wherever they can. To be honest, there is not much for them to do – Bates is a lot better at his work than anyone would have guessed and soon, he has gathered a whole lot of supporters – most obviously Anna, who seems to be heavily crushing on him already – keeping a watchful eye on him.

But the footman and the lady's maid don't give up so easily. Once they are determined to achieve something, they will go through with it until it gets too risky to keep up.

This point is not there yet.

Thomas is patient. And he is confident. There is little doubt he will succeed sooner or later. One of his plans _will_ work – unless some vengeful god prevents it, this has to be the case. During all of this, Thomas knows Sarah will stand by him through thick and thin, even if she's still a bit angry at him for not making use of his position as the old valet's substitute. But even so, he is unspeakably grateful for her help and somehow, he wishes he had a way to make it up to her. After all, no matter how cold their interactions seem, Sarah is still the only friend Thomas has ever had since the day he arrived here. There is a good chance he is the only _true_ friend he ever had at all. They share a mutual trust that goes beyond anything _normal_ people – those who are not outcasts regarded as scum by everyone else – would ever understand. Much like Thomas' relationship with Aleister, his friendship with Sarah is not based on honesty. It is based on bare need. Pragmatism, if you will. There is nothing sentimental about it. They will not have their heart broken or disappoint each other. That they are friends is but a matter of fact, and that they help each other is simply a part of it. No more. Together, they have achieved a lot of things already.

However – This time so far, their efforts are fruitless.

Bates is still in service, doing better each day while everyone is growing more and more fond of him.

_'What's the matter with him?'_, Thomas muses while he carefully runs the razor blade down his own chin. _'He is _different_, too. Another kind of different, I admit, but still different. Why do people accept him like a long-lost relative and I, who have been in their midst for so long, am still a stranger and a possible threat?'_

As if he wanted to kill them in their sleep with the blade in his hand …

He coldly stares into his own eyes. Is it that look the others hate? Something about the way he walks, talks or even smells? He is not some kind of monster … or is he?

Sometimes the people that cross his way make him think he is. He has stopped caring long ago.

And thankfully, not all of the members of this household think like that. There are a few of the maids who like him, especially Daisy, that naïve little thing, and of course, there is Sarah. The family doesn't mind him either. But none of them would go such lengths for him as Lord Grantham goes for Bates. Warbuddies or not, keeping a lame valet is simply ridiculous. How close exactly _are_ they? It is almost insane!

Quietly, Thomas promises himself to never befriend someone in a war, if he ever has to take part in one. But how high are the chances anyway?

However, he knows how easily even the strongest bonds can break. It makes him smile a little. He will try. No matter if his other plan will succeed or not, he will try.

* * *

><p>"I just think you should know it's not working, Mr Carson", Thomas says, as softly as he can while still sounding determined enough for Carson to take him seriously.<p>

The butler, however, doesn't seem very impressed.

"Do you mean Mr Bates is lazy?", he retorts with his usual 'You are the greatest disgrace ever to have set foot into this house, Thomas, I have got no idea why we are even keeping you' voice.

"Not lazy, exactly", the footman adds quickly. "But he just can't carry. He can hardly manage His Lordship's cases. You saw how it was when they went to London for the memorial. He can't help with the guest luggage neither. And as for waiting a table, we can forget that."

"And what do you want me to do?", Carson asks, obviously unwilling to contemplate this matter any further. He must have his doubts, too. It's clear from the look in his eyes that he is as torn apart on that matter as he can be.

So Thomas decides to make this a more 'personal' debate … Should be easy enough.

"Well, it's not for me to say", he says politely without taking his eyes off of the butler for even a second. Fortunately, he has quite some practise playing the dutiful footman who actually cares about this place … "But is it fair on William to have all the extra work? I don't believe you'd like to think this house was falling below the way things ought to be."

"I would not", Carson agrees without any hesitation. The mere implication of Downton Abbey failing to fulfil his precious standards is enough for him to break into uncontrolled panic any time.

"That's all I'm saying."

Thomas has a hard time not to smile. He is satisfied with himself. So at least Carson, of all people, is on his side now – whether he wants it or not.

Sarah has promised to take care of Lady Grantham. Her Ladyship will be easily fooled … And this will sure rub off on her daughters and husband.

_'Well, it's a start …'_

* * *

><p>That evening, Thomas gives Sarah only a happy smile instead of the big hug he would like to give her while he quietly scratches Lady Grantham from the list of people they are trying to convince of Bates' inaptness.<p>

When they are separated by that annoying Anna who once more has to stuck her nose into other people's business, Thomas is in a good enough mood he resists throwing an insult at her. Instead, he plans to have a smoke underneath the clear, starlit sky after dinner tonight.

_'Soon …' _

* * *

><p> "You will be all right, I know it. You're like a rat, Thomas. You can live among all the dirt and filth of the earth and you still won't give up. You'll just crawl until you see the daylight again. They can try to poison you, but you will just spit it out and wait for the cramps to wear off before you flee again. They can throw you into the deepest, darkest water, but you won't drown. You'll just swim. You always do." /

The words echo in Thomas' head. Over and over and over again. He covers his ears with both hands, but he can't block them out. There they are, keeping him from his sleep. He will never forget them. Never.

But why do they haunt him tonight? He has been most cheerful just an hour ago!

Tomorrow is the big day. He should be happy, but he believes it's normal to be a little anxious about it, too. His future depends on it, after all, and God, he hasn't seen Aleister for months now! Will he still look and act the same? Or has something changed him? The letters have become rarer during the last weeks and a lot shorter. Is there nothing left to talk about or does something bother Aleister and he doesn't want to write it in a letter?

Thomas carefully holds the letters pressed against his chest tonight. They are something to cling to. They calm him down. Tomorrow, he will put them back into the drawer where they belong, but not now. He can't put them away right now. These words are his proof that Aleister is special. He is not like his past lovers. He will not turn his back on Thomas, oh no. Even if he wanted to, these letters would make him stay … or at least pay for every fibre of the heart he would break.

Still, the fear remains. Thomas is not above blackmailing – to be honest, he has done far worse in the past – but he doesn't want to lose Aleister, no matter the reward. They are so perfect together. A pair of witty charmers at first glance, but two selfish rapscallions with a love for literature and all those little things that make life agreeable beneath the façade. It just works, the way they have a lot in common.

But that's the reason Thomas is so scared. He knows how easily he would screw someone over who was in love with him and he doubts his lover is any different. Maybe even worse. Aleister really resembles Henry in some ways … It's that particular charm. They both have got the ability to do something completely horrifying and make you think it was the greatest idea in the world.

Every promise they make is secretly a threat. Because they will make you believe it before they laugh it all off and turn their backs like nothing ever happened.

Thomas sighs. He doesn't know if he can bear to be betrayed by a lover _again_. But it's too late anyway now. He does indeed love Aleister, so he has no choice.

Even if those words keep swirling around in his mind …

"You won't drown – you'll just _swim_."

Thomas knows every syllable to be true. But should he consider these words a warning? Or an encouragement?

He chooses the latter. He chooses to swim.

Whatever happens, it will not be his end. Maybe a step further down into the darkness, but not his end. Never.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I'm late by about one hour today. I don't think that counts, does it? (^.^')

Events are a little random this chapter, but I wanted to include this before I go on with the rest of Episode 1. If things continue like this, I may get to the second season before the 5th airs on tv ;-)

(Alas, the Christmas Special ruined a lot of the imaginary season 3 stuff I've written already. Yes, I'm that far with this fic, it's originally where I've started and at the moment, I'm basically just adding the first scenes to the whole thing.)

Oh, I'll explain that quote from the last paragraph later, so keep it in mind. =)


	7. Chapter 7

Thomas is unusually nervous today. His movements are sloppy and his skin crawls like it has been covered by a million ants. He tries to keep his calm, bites his tongue every now and then and craves his cigarettes more than ever, but it still doesn't help. In this state, he feels like a little child again – trapped between his excitement and his inability (or rather, _fear_) to express it.

Nobody is to notice the suspiciously good mood he is in, so he fights off the anxious grin that desperately wants to form on his face and instead behaves like a grumpy old man with a headache.

He shouts at William a lot, tries to weaken the other footman's confidence even more. Thomas knows it is childish to think like this, but he is afraid his current subordinate will steal attention away from him … _again_.

After all, it can't be denied: William is attractive - tall and slender, like a footman should be, with his innocent blue eyes, the puerile face and the blond hair which all give off a vibe of youthful naiveté Thomas knows many men of his … _preferences_ would find intriguing.

Fortunately, Thomas is not one of them. And, hopefully, neither is Aleister. But deep inside, Thomas is the jealous type – he will not let _anything_ spoil the reunion with his lover.

Not after all this time. Not when every single part of his body and soul longs for it with such intensity …

For a moment, Thomas slips into the secretive shadows of a door frame and leans against the cold wood to calm his nerves. Softly, he closes his eyes. His hand slowly travels down his neck, his thumb gently strokes his lips. They try to smile, but fail. A strange grimace of impatience is all they can manage. Tonight cannot come fast enough. How will it be?

_'Damn you, Aleister, you really toy with my senses …'_, Thomas curses in his thoughts. What is wrong with him today? He did not act like this when they were together. This feeling in his guts wasn't there yet. This feeling that something could go horribly, horribly wrong. What if there is nothing left to say? Or worse: What if they let down their guards and are caught, right underneath his employer's roof? The mere idea is the stuff for nightmares …

But 'No', Thomas thinks. 'It will be all right.'

He knows. And then he only smiles, carefully brushing over his uniform one last time before he heads downstairs. A few more minutes. Only a few more minutes …

* * *

><p>With his heart beating heavily in his chest, but a perfectly indifferent look upon his face, Thomas stands in front of the mansion, with a stiff posture and completely motionless, just like a footman is expected to behave.<p>

Next to him, most of the other servants are waiting as well, all with varying degrees of anxiousness on their faces, but trying hard to hide just that. A duke. A real duke. It has been the number one topic of the last two days. As if a mere title is enough to make a person extraordinary or admirable in any way …

Thomas knows better than that.

But sill, he is just as filled with anticipation as them, maybe more. Despite his years of practise as a very special 'actor', he is almost scared the expectant look of admiration in his eyes will show, so he keeps his face as unmoved and emotionless as physically possible, even as the car arrives and makes the grit scrunch underneath the wheels as it stops.

The door opens and a young man gets out. The blood in Thomas' veins starts to boil.

Aleister has shorter hair now, but he still looks as polished and radiant as ever. There is the same impish smirk on his face, like that of a young boy constantly in search for adventure, and once again, Thomas is reminded on why he fell in love with the Duke despite trying his best not to.

It is so hard not to smile back.

At first, Aleister doesn't even look at his lover and instead concentrates on the Crawley family, greeting them with his usual charming attitude. It is the same stiff procedure Thomas has witnessed so many times. Nobility. He will never understand their ways, even if he has to remain a footman until the end of his life.

When the lot finally decides to go inside, Thomas for a moment almost thinks he has been forgotten entirely. Nothing? Not even a small glance? A gesture, however subtle?

But then, as if the thought just happens to cross the Duke's mind in this very second, Aleister suddenly speaks up to the lady of the house.

"Oh, Lady Grantham", he says, "I have a confession to make which I hope won't cause too much bother. My man has taken ill just as I was leaving, so I … "

"Oh, that won't be a problem, will it, Carson?", Lord Grantham replies cheerfully and the butler, of course, offers to look after the noble guest himself.

For a single heartbeat, Thomas feels his hope die down in his chest, but, as always, Aleister is quick to turn the situation around again.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of being such a nuisance", he politely declines. "Surely a footman-" His eyes meet Thomas' for a brief moment. The tension almost feels like a blade to the throat, but in a strangely good way. "I remember this man. Didn't you serve me when I dined with Lady Grantham in London?"

"I did, Your Grace", Thomas confirms truthfully and hates the way he sounds when he says those words. They seem awfully subdued.

"Ah, there we are", Aleister says, grinning. "We shall do very well together, won't we, …?"

"Uh – Thomas, Your Grace."

"Thomas", the Duke repeats, pointing his cane at the footman and grinning even _more_. Is that even possible? Thomas doesn't know whether he should find the whole act pathetic or amusing.

_'As if you wouldn't know my name'_, he thinks sarcastically. _'I've heard you moaning and screaming it in more delightful ways than I ever could've imagined.' _

But he keeps quiet, doesn't even move a muscle in his face as they all turn to go back inside when suddenly, just in this very moment, Bates loses his balance and falls to the ground in front of everybody.

It happens quickly, way too quickly, but watching him squirm on the ground is nothing but joy for Thomas. Cold, uneasy joy, but it feels good nevertheless.

O'Brien and he look at each other. He immediately understands it was her doing and gives her a heartfelt smirk of gratitude.

Could this day really be any better than this?

X

Unfortunately, the day goes on without much happening. Everytime Thomas crosses Aleister's path and tries to share a warm, longing look with him, the Duke pretends the footman does not even exist.

It's almost as if they really never knew each other at all. Gone is the nobleman's flirty attitude, as well as the spark that used to light up his eyes when he looked at Thomas.

Now, all his attention is on Lady Mary. Of course, since that is his plan: Marry her and collect her money. It is nothing but a business deal. And a convenient one at that. But that doesn't stop Thomas from being almost insanely jealous.

He knew all along that Aleister is a fortune hunter who is solely after money, not love, but from a conversation they had after a few secret meetings, the Duke has made it very clear that he _does_ fancy women just like he fancies men. And Lady Mary is a beauty. Men everywhere are at her feet and it's not like she doesn't notice, oh no. It's just like Sarah says all the time: That woman means trouble.

So Thomas decides to follow the designated lovebirds around whenever he can without attracting too much attention.

At first, their exchanges he overhears seem perfectly harmless. Just typical upper class smalltalk. The kind Thomas can't stand for the hell of it.

The weather, blah blah, hunting, blah blah, recent purchases, dance parties and so on and so on.

But then … Something Thomas does not like. At all.

_'Exploring the attics and secret passages? Is he _serious_ about this?'_

Nervously, Thomas bites his lip, then forces himself to stop. He has abandoned that habit years ago, he can't start again now.

The sudden urge to smoke overwhelms him and his hands begin to shake ever so slightly.

What on earth is going on here?

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Nothing to say this time. Mostly what happened in the episode, right? I kept it short because we all know what's going on already.

Have a wonderful 2012, guys!


End file.
